Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain;

Fought all his battles o'er again,
And thrice he routed all his foes, and
thrice he slew the slain !

The master saw the madness rise,
His glowing cheeks, his ardent eyes;
And, while he heaven and earth defied,
Changed his hand and checked his pride.

He chose a mournful Muse
Soft pity to infuse:

He sung Darius great and good,
By too severe a fate

Fallen, fallen, fallen, fallen,
Fallen from his high estate,
And weltering in his blood;
Deserted at his utmost need
By those his former bounty fed;
On the bare earth exposed he lies
With not a friend to close his eyes.

60

The mighty master smiled, to see That love was in the next degree; 'Twas but a kindred sound to move, For pity melts the mind to love. Softly sweet, in Lydian measures,* Soon he soothed his soul to pleasures. 80 War, he sung, is toil and trouble, Honor but an empty bubble; Never ending, still beginning, Fighting still, and still destroying; If the world be worth thy winning, Think, O think it worth enjoying: Lovely Thais sits beside thee, Take the good the gods provide thee! -The many rend the skies with loud applause;

So Love was crowned, but Music won the cause.

The prince, unable to conceal his pain,
Gazed on the fair

Who caused his care,

90

And sighed and looked, sighed and looked,

Sighed and looked, and sighed again: At length, with love and wine at once oppressed,

The vanquished victor sunk upon her breast.

Behold a ghastly band,

Each a torch in his hand!

4 Lydian measures. A soft and effeminate type

of Greek music.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,

The Moon takes up the wondrous tale; 10
And nightly to the listening Earth
Repeats the story of her birth:
Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though in solemn silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball;
What though nor real voice nor sound
Amidst their radiant orbs be found?
In Reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
Forever singing as they shine,
"The hand that made us is divine."

(1712)

RULE BRITANNIA

JAMES THOMSON

20

[In memory of British soldiers who fell in the War of the Austrian Succession, 1745-46.]

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallowed mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is_rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung:
There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell, a weeping hermit, there!
(1746)

ODE TO EVENING

WILLIAM COLLINS

9

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont,

And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest
Eve;

While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light;

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves;

Or Winter, yelling through the troublous air,

Affrights thy shrinking train

And rudely rends thy robes;

4 folding-star. The star that marked the time for taking in the flocks.